View from A Virtual Creek, Post Twenty-five

In the Sand

[author] [author_image timthumb=’on’][/author_image] [author_info]Larry Weishuhn is a widely known writer, speaker, raconteur and world hunter. He co-hosts “DSC’s Trailing the Hunter’s Moon” on Pursuit Channel, CarbonTV and the show’s YouTube Channel.[/author_info] [/author]


It had rained hard for the past three days.  My meager camp, a roofless burned out adobe hacienda, provided little protection from the “elements.”  But, by hugging the north wall, I could stay reasonably dry blocking the rain, thanks to a hard-blowing north wind.



Camp was not exactly what I had expected. It was a bit more “rustic” than had been explained. I had erroneously assumed the cabin in which I would be staying during my hunt just below the Rio Bravo in northern Tamaulipas, Mexico, would have a roof.  Nor had I expected to share “my quarters” with a donkey and a rooster….


Each morning I left camp on foot long before the slightest hint of gray light. I hunted all day and returned an hour after dark. Once back, I used a cup of diesel to start a wet wood fire, then raked coals off to the side to grill a steak. Thankfully, before my host left with the promise to return a week later, he stocked a cooler with T-bones and ribeyes, from a steer on his ranch. He had also left me two bottles of fine “safe water,” sipping tequila to help me ward of the cold and wet.


For three days, I did not see another human. I wondered if indeed there was anyone in the immediate area, but once the rain slowed, two vaqueros showed up at my predawn warming campfire. I knew just enough Tex-Mex to question them about the “venado cola blanco” on the ranch. They assured me there were numerous “machos viejo” in the “brasada” and in the next few days, their moon of madness would be upon them. Both suggested I hunt south of the headquarters along a sandy creek bottom as the rain slowed, because big bucks like to walk in wet sand, because it makes their feet feel good.


Up to that time I had seen only does and younger bucks. I hoped the two vaqueros knew what they were talking about. As I learned later that morning. They indeed did. I saw fifteen bucks that morning, walking in the sandy wet creek bottom almost as if they were on parade. Big bucks did indeed like walking in wet sand!  Just before high noon a six-year-old massive antlered “muy grande” appeared, the sixteenth buck.  I could not pass him.





Regardless of what is going on in the world, there are always small things, of beauty and splendor, for us to enjoy, admire and appreciate!

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